


the dark is sweet, yet the light is sweeter.

by BananaQueen88



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ancient Elves (Dragon Age), Blood is lives, Cannibalism, Character Death, Class Issues, Dalish Elves, Drug Addiction, Dwarven Carta (Dragon Age), Fae Magic, Fae mythos, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Fictional Religion & Theology, Found Family, Free Marcher Culture and Customs, Free Marches (Dragon Age), Gen, Ghoul mythos, Ghouls, Half-Elves, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injury Recovery, Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Medical Conditions, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Medieval Medicine, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Necromancy, Politics, Qunari Culture and Customs, Race Issues, Realistic Thedas, Recovery, Religion, Tevinter Culture and Customs, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age), The Qun (Dragon Age), Thedas (Dragon Age), Undead, Vampire Turning, Vampires, colonialism vs imperialism, fae, free city staes, it's all secretly Australian but don't tell anybody shh it's a secret, light philosophy, maybe? - Freeform, medieval politics, necromatic research, overcoming addiction, politics in the futle world, pre-industrial politics, realistic medieval religion, realistic medieval religious political system, trade, undead abominations, undead knights, world myths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaQueen88/pseuds/BananaQueen88
Summary: The room was pleasant. Clean and large enough for a aimple dresser, desk, bed and pair of chairs- even if the space they formed all together was a cramped one. Victoria was a little worried about the oil lamp sitting on the edge of the desk. atleast It was upstairs away from the smells of the street while also remarkably soundproof, almost like magic. She said as much to Sampson and he laughed, loud in his drunkenness, settling into his chair.“Yeah, they attract some apostate mages 'ere, people don’t report 'em to the templars.”What. “What?”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	the dark is sweet, yet the light is sweeter.

**Author's Note:**

> I recognise that this work was produced on the traditional lands of the Kaurna and Ngadjuri peoples.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'pop'

Arrival… it’s a strange word for an event. Much too large a word. You see, it encompasses far, far too many, potential methods, mood’s, modals and realities. It can be sudden, it can be small, it can be big. It’s violent, calm, bloody, cruel, kind, hated, worshiped, long, desired, long-desired and so much more… 

SUCH a word. SUCH a meaning.

‘Our arrival tonight was pleasant’. 

Relaxed and familiar.

‘The coming of the lord’s wrath unto the sinner.’ 

Large- cataclysmic even, should one indulge. 

‘We’re here’. 

Simple. 

Concise. 

A homely staple.

Much too large a word, arrival- 

And hers that day, was as sudden as it was unjustified…

Indeed, she doesn’t fully recollect how her arrival happened; just that she had planned on resting for the day, only just entered her rooms in her uncles apartment and then-  
‘Pop’

::‘;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’::

-and Victoria was blinking, taking in the sudden dark and damp from her new position- folded almost clean in half.

What?- the only thought one ought to have in such a situation, truly.

 _WHAT!?_ Something’s small, round and strangely elastic bumped against her face; bumped again and again over her arms and legs and torso. She moved her limbs, pushing out scarcely half a foot before encountering a barrier, which, upon the brushing of her palm and of the pads of her fingers, she realised was wooden. The slightly springy, almost soggy, inlays and groves giving the material away. She tried to raise her head, to stretch herself out and to stand, only to be meet the same impediment an inch latter. 

_The fucking what?_

She opened her eyes managing a squint; her mouth opened dumbly and promptly closed as she tried not to gag, grimacing at the taste of the devilish liquid which rushed to fill it. _Vinegar and some other repulsive agent_. One of those small elastic things bumped against her lip again. Intent on realising the fullness of her current predicament she reached for it in the clandestine submerged _cramped_ space and brought it to her lips for a bite- trying desperately not to let any of the liquid in- sucking the flexing _shape_ into her mouth.

 _Egg_ \- Her face screwed up in the blackness. That most putrid rotten and forsaken egg! _Ugh_ , that of the pickled variety. 

She was in a container then? She checked again the parameter of her confinement; it had to be less than a meter squared. And it was round and stout, so, a container for sure.

_Was… was she in a barrel?_

_But- how?_

Deep reverberations bounced through the barrel cutting her from her panic. They moved through the _loathsome_ liquid creating a lazily dull hum that alternated between the high and low frequencies and non-too gently permeated throughout her skull. _Tapping on the exterior_ , she supposed. _Well then_ ; She tapped back, nails scraping along the seeped wood. 

_This situation is utter butters._

And as sudden as her arrival, her lightless world shifted- right- and she was falling, even in the stasis of this thick _obnoxious_ fluid.

Victoria flinched as her centre of gravity lurched downwards before coming to a sudden stop, the pressure forcing the top of the supposed barrel to fly off, the force of the liquid spilling out flinging her out with it, into flickering light. 

She pulled herself out the rest of the way, sliding and crawling out onto worn smooth planks of wood, rendering the eggs beneath her to mush.

She lay there, drenched, half on her hands and knees, half folded into herself breathing hard. Taking a moment. Staring. 

Between the gaps in the planks of wood she could see water churning to its tide. 

The stench clung to her clothes. She gaged.

She sat up and crossed her legs, throwing off her coat, trying to ignore how her once loose cotton clothes now clinging and soggy felt on her skin. 

There was someone behind her, only a few meters away she could tell; could feel it along the back of her neck in the hairs prickling.

She crawled a few feet down the planks, away from the mess, from the stranger, before shaking her head side to side and breathing the salt and brine in the air. Victoria looked up, unseeing, then down with a shuddering intake of lungful of air. _Fuck, OK._

She could now smell recognise the salt and brine as being from the ocean, hear the movement of water beneath her, and read by the stars and blackness woven into the water’s reflections, that it was night…

 _Where the hell am I?_ She looked up, taking in her surroundings. _What the fuck happened?_ Nothing she could see made sense.

But this place… She was on a dock, that much was clear to tell. A dock lit by grimed oil lanterns oozing the tang of burning whale fat as well as braziers, both small and mounted and large and squat, grounded. Their odour was distinct to coal. And the ships; row boats, barges, ferries, and _ships_ \- all made of wood, not a single material hinting to fiberglass, steel or plastic just wood woven and hammered into shape.

There were no motors either, just powerful looking oars and large multicoloured and robust sails. They- all of them- swam along the wide length of water her dock was squat above. Rather ‘docks’, placed all along this stretch of water, along both banks. The ships where crawling with people, even at this hour, all working to maintain their vessel, their drunkenness, and their course. 

The person behind her shifted. But they would be made to wait, she needed to make sense of this.

She could see more clearly to her left that the dock sat above a channel which snaked deeper into a surrounding settlement – and what a settlement! 

It seemed to rise from all around her lowest point on the planks over the water; ramshackle homes crawling over top each other in a meandering stumbling assent, before suddenly meeting a cliff- the border- clearly hued into and quarried, lights flicking within. Her eyes followed its curve coming around smoothly in its titanic size so that she had to twist her back to follow. There were more homes there, on her side of the dock, though slightly less haphazard, they still went clambering up to the cliff, becoming more and more sturdy, deliberate, and expensive as they moved. 

Those at the top where more than homes; each were large and ostentatious manors. Where that which now stood behind her had climbed, these glamorous things simply glided up. One even seemed a keep, buttresses and all. There was a massive stair commanding a path all the way through this elevated and manicured section of city, through a brief levelled second tier, down to, possibly, only several tens of blocks away from where she sat.  
It was beautiful in the juxtaposition it cut ragged into this rising place. The cliff circling it all ended in a narrow crack thirty or so kilometres away from her dock. _Suppose that’s where the waters coming from? Unless they mined into a natural bore? No, too salty_. In the truest sense the settlement sat in a bowl, half their city and half the seas.

But the structures… the technology… It was as if she had been stuffed through in time, not a barrel. But then maybe she had? She couldn’t remember how she kame to be in such a container, after all. 

She held back a scoff. _Hardly compelling evidence. ___

____

____

Yet she was unable to withhold a wistful sighed at the sight, before forcing herself to consider the other person. She relaxed herself and calmly tuned her neck to observe them.

There, a strongly built man was standing only two meters away, looming tall even stooped over as he was. 

His was rough looks; rugged and dark, practical and cheap. Something lurking in his eyes, in the man’s clear lack of self-care, in the stubble and oily hair. His eyes were bloodshot, bruised with bags- his brow married with worry lines. 

Suddenly, it occurred to her, he was young despite the clear scares of age, twenty years old at most. Strange- what had happened to him to weary him so? What had he done to himself? _Harsh living? Substance abuse? Physical abuse? Maybe a genetic condition?_

He stumbled forward a foot and into the torchlight, grey eyes blown wide and pupils dilated. It hit her then- he smelt off- some crass aftershave, then coppery liquorish followed by some artificial flavour that made her think of blue – and the alcohol, he smelt very strongly of alcohol. _So, substance abuse now, if not in the past._

“OI” he slurred. 

She rose to her feet in a single smooth action and he stumbled back that foot. He wore simple linens, died bright blue and stained to hell, simple stretched leggings and worn boots- she could see a hole in the right’s heel. _Poor too, then_. From what she could see of his arms, his hands, they were decorated in calluses and scars- and a rather curious burn on his bicep, almost to his elbow… localised and deep and telling of some deliberateness… that or he was trapped by something heavy and burning. _The marks of copious physical labour?_

His hands twitched. _I’m miss- ah- those are neat enough scares as to be from a sharp bladed ‘thing’. So, a fighter maybe…_

_There’s so many-Onetwothreefourfivesixandtheforearmseveneightninetenandtheotherarmeleventwelve-_

She forced him from her mind, turning to him her back so she could examine the barrel and stain of pickled eggs, her clothes barely shifting their wet grip against her. 

Victoria supressed a wince, even as her brow twitched; if it weren’t for the overwhelming scent of the ocean she would have gaged again.

“What the hell wha- were you doing in that?” The man continued.

She bent over and gripped the rim of the barrel, pulling it up right before looking inside, _no markings_ , she checked the outside before tilting the container onto its axis, and spinning it slowly- _nothing._

“You def woman?”

She pushed it over again, _nothing on the bottom._

The stranger made a second attempt at stepping closer, so she turned to confront him. 

“Excuse me, but where am I?” 

Predictably, he stopped then squinted. 

“Th’ docks, clearly.” He muttered, stuttering over the ‘-cks’, drunkenly overemphasising the sound. He’d had corrected his posture while she had been turned away, standing now at his full hight, somewhere around 6’3. Were this man sober, a woman might be afraid to come into his company so late into the night. 

Victoria smiled in a bid to disarm him before replying, soft and shy. “Of course the docks, but the dock of which settlement, yes?” 

Something shifted in his eyes. “Kirkwall, miss.” His voice was somewhat deep, although strangely, it was also rather nasally as if his nose had been perpetually blocked for some time. _Something obstructing the nasal cavities perhaps? Polyps?_

She smiled a little more brightly before more loudly continuing “thank you” and looking away from his face- down casting her eyes, and lightly bunching her brow. 

A practiced act. 

“Do you mind if, well, that is, might I ask your name?” 

He shifted to cross his arms, lightly soothing along his biceps with is scared fingers, brushing over the old burn. 

“Sampson miss. Might I ask for yours?” He parroted.

Interesting. His accent held notes of an English inflection, the way his vows came out and his tongue curled around the ‘i’ in ‘Might-’

She smiled a little wider again, almost grinning, letting her voice rise. “Victoria Chen, Sampson. And a pleasure to meet you!” 

She stooped to pick up her sodden coat and fold it over the crook in her arm, then moved to walk up the dock towards the warn stone of the wharf and streets beyond. Yet he coughed before she could pass him. 

And she felt a strong urge to face him again.

When he realised he had her attention again he moved his arms down loosely to his side and smiled, revelling partially rotten teeth, continuing their conversation. 

“And yous as well, Lady Chen… You know, I’ve not heard that before; ‘Chen’. ‘S that Rivaini?” That glint had returned to his eyes. 

_Rivaini?_

She could not stop her eyebrow from twitching – he wasn’t going to let her oddity go, it would seem… _did he have a knife in reach? Is that why he lowered his hands, and- smiling to disarm her in turn?_

“Rivaini, Sampson? No. No its not.” _I don’t think_. She wanted to take a looser stance but didn’t for fear of tipping him off. It wouldn’t be a favourable event, not when he stood there, a possibly trained and dangerous drunk without inhibition.

He made to speak, so Victoria spoke first. 

“Say, did you see who happened to stuff me into that barrel?” She took a step towards said barrel, a step away from him, to better point at it with her unloaded arm.

“Hol- no, I didn’t.” He walked forward in an ungraceful gait although she realised that he didn’t seem half as drunk as he had only a moment before. 

“Fortunate I came around when I did, though, tha’ couldn’t have been comfort’able I take it?” 

He stepped closer again, only two feet away. 

“Being stuffed into barrel like that Lady Chen,” he loomed, “what with the lack of air an’ all.” 

He was reaching for something, slowly- something tucked into his belt.

She took a step towards him, closing the gap and he tensed so slightly she scarcely noticed, fingers flexing, tremor in his jaw. 

She held his gaze. 

“You must have made a mistake, you _have_ been drinking, Sampson, I fell out from behind the barrel- I had been resting against it, see?” And something relaxed, and something pulled.

The tension left him, twitching fingers going lax, if only by an increment. 

“It sure as Divine looked like you fell out from it; you are all wet, yeah?” But Victoria just shrugged, continuing.

“I was splashed besides, and at any rate, _it is late_ , you must be tired. One should sleep and sleep well or there’ll be no energy for tomorrow, surly?” Something relaxed, and something pulled. 

Victoria’s face lit up. “Do you need some company in returning home, Sampson?” _To, perchance, be of some use, stranger?_

“I’ve know’er t’ stay, lady- was just evicted.” He relaxed ever so slightly again before he continued.

“Truthfully, can’t help a fu-” he winced- “spirited soul in this city without someone else try’n t’ do you in for it.” 

He tried for a grand gesture, motioning about their dock, to the ships and the buildings. “Here’s the city of rats.” 

Yet his expression betrayed him; he was clearly unbothered, only shrugging before continuing. “Through your right; its late. You ought to be getting on.” 

He made for the wharf, on wobbling steps, then stopped suddenly, shuddering and shaking and going still before seeming to take in her appearance more fully. The sodden well-tailored black blouse, powder blue pencil skirt, oiled leather flats and her thicker woven grey coat. Her watch, her necklace, her earrings.

“Ought to be get’n on” he echoed himself. Eyes lingering on her more expensive jewellery for only a moment, yet so opaquely the gears of his mind could be seen to work. 

“Though you should have some company, t’ cities not kindly in the dark, Lady Chen, an escort’s only proper”. She could see some concern in his eyes- perhaps it was even genuine. “Wouldn’t be right t’ just leave you”.

Victoria sighed and considered him, then eyed the marvellous city surrounding them, and decided she could use a guide if nothing else. “Few things are, in the dark, Sampson,” she lightly retorted.

 _Still, I can pick his brain at least, get a handle on what’s going on_. She smiled, spirits lifting at the prospect of leaving the docks and the stench-mess of pickled eggs. “Alright then, Sampson, you’re on.” 

He seemed relieved, relaxing the last increment, almost falling back into his stooped posture before straightening himself out again. 

Victoria closed the gap between them and held out her arm for him to take. “Say, where could I buy accommodation for the night?”

His response was rapid as he immediately began to lead her off the clattering planks, onto the street, and into the night. His lips even twitched to form something almost like a boyish smirk, if not for the stubble and the dirt.

“’ere’s a pub not too far from here- they don’t ask t’ much in the way of questions. Good folk keep ‘n eye to it, also”. The black thing shadowing his eyes began to lift as they entered into the residual and merchant like holdings that flanked the body of water they walked besides, over from their street, and Victoria couldn’t help a smile. 

Leave it to a pub to merry an Englishman- and she supposed that’s what he was; an Englishman.

Yet she’d never heard of Kirkwall before… The smile tugged, trying to cut her face into a grin, as her mood lifted. 

Kirkwall… 

Most curious.

She’d have visited it if she had heard of it- the city really was breath taking. Although cities change names easily enough, their geography, _this gorgeous-bold geography_ , could not be altered so easily. It would take a massive amount of time and power, and what’s more; such change could not escape historical record. 

So, stuffed not though time, but space? Into some alternative world? Or another planet or another galaxy? _Was one even more probable than the other?_ It’s all inconclusive. Extraordinary theories required extraordinary evidence. _So, what could be the clearest evidence for this hypothesis?_

Sampson pulled her gently out of the way of a hooded and clocked figure moving down their hewn stone path. They were traveling up a slight incline now, turning away from the docks, into the city. 

_Hm. Something like an unfamiliar species- a dragon? Or wyvern? Or different celestial bodies- Two moons?_ \- Chen looked up quickly- _nope_. 

_If it was another galaxy it could say a lot about what shape sentient creatures tended to take, after all, Sampson seemed to be human, and seemed to speak English. What could that mean?_

Still, Victoria supposed she’d know her evidence when she saw it, and that, until such a time, she’d best assume she’d either moved through time or been tricked into thinking so. 

Yet with every step and sight the ‘trick’ hypotheses seemed more and more unlikely. There was simply too much happening, too much going on to indicate some falsehood. It was all too real. She needed information.

“Sampson, dear, I must ask, since I’m new to this city ‘n all, could you tell me about it?”

He looked down to her, not slowing his pace. “What would you like t’ know?” His fermented breath wafting closer with every word.

Victoria discreetly turned her nose away before asking. “How old is it?”

He grunted, before turning his head forward again. “Been here ‘bout thousand an’ two hundred years, but tha’s discounting t’ tribes who cleared the plains. They’d ‘ave been ‘ere thousands ‘e years, long before ‘is was ever a quarry linked t’ the sea.”

 _Old then, if true. Would that make the channel leading out of this stone bawl artificial then?_ Victoria rather doubted they’d been able to manage that at their current technologies- but then all it would require was time. Still. Ignoring the lands predecessors struck a chord. 

“Don’t we always discount the tribes who cleared the plains?” _The greater commonwealth certainly had_. 

He hummed. “S’pose histories like that,” he waved his hand in a drunken bid at grace, “To the victors the annals and such rot.”

“Still, Sampson, it’s an older city than I’d have expected.”

“Hm. Been through several cultures of course, but we’r- Kirkwaller’s, that is- we’re about it’s independence and freedom as a city state. ‘Ave been since the slave revolution back in twen’y five Ancient” His eyes shone, the darkness defeated, and his pride clear to see. “Noh since tha’ revolution, back when this was th’ centre for slave trade in th’ imperium, has this been a colony of another power”

“That’s impressive- most states can’t last like that, not without serious external support.”

“Ah, well, we have th’ aid of the other city states about us- an’ trade here is and has always been exceptional. Of course, there ‘ave been… moments of occupation from foreign powers- but we always throw ‘em out, given time. Better yet, not been a single slave made here since the Qunari occupation several decades back.” His tone took a darker quality. “Though they wouldn’t call it slavery.”

 _Qunari?_ “What are the Qunari like?”

He made a face, a conflict marching plain across his features, then he sighed a chest heaving ‘huff’ and answered. 

“I’ve never seen one myself, but they follow this text, some scripture ‘bout ‘submission’ and ‘one’s place’ within th’ Qun- it’s a lot of tosh.” He sighed roughly again. “And they aim to invade th’ lot of us t’ spread it. Th’ Qun… It’s supposed t’ be a philosophy, I think- but they call their leaders priests… Never heard a kind thing ‘bout ‘em.”

The conflict cleared into a frown. “They’re godless heathens, what’s more. Savage like; worse than th’ most uncivilised Dalish cutthroat.”

 _Dalish?_ “Do you have many interactions with the Dalish?”

His face calmed as he left the drunken fervour, then turned a cherry red. “With the’ hunters an’ some merchants- truth be told they’re fine enough.” He coughed awkwardly, “Even if they’ve turned their back to the Maker.” Coughed again to clear his throat. 

He became ridged in posture and smoothed his face of any tells in a disciplined manner- smoothed as well he could in his state, at least. “Forget wha’ I said earlier, my Lady, their civilised in their own ways- can be reasoned with, too. These is a people beyond questioning as t’ their peopleness- ah, peoplehood.”

He frowned muttering, “Personhood,” sighed and drew them to a stop turning her to face him directly. 

“But th’ Qunari, they’re not; so, you avoid them, or be enslaved, Lady Chen. It isn- it’s not right, what they do.” 

The darkness seemed to have come back to him. Curious. “I’ll keep that in mind, then. Onwards to accommodation?” She gave his arm a light tug to get him moving again. _Rather curious_.

It seemed odd to her, that such a clearly passionate and- assuming she was reading the environment correctly- educated man to be in his downtrodden situation. Educated for this time and technology, rather. Granted, she knew little beyond his inhibition and homelessness, but the sense remained. She needed to know more.

“Would you tell me more about the city? About her districts, Sampson?” 

He took a moment to think, as they walked. Victoria had to stifle a laugh too- she could clearly see the machinations as his eyes clouded over becoming squinted, and the beginnings of crow’s feet clung to his young unkept face.

“Low-town, Dark-town, High-town.” He said at last. “The docks, the gallows. The keep and the chantry monastery- but there’re in hight town.” 

_Lovely_. “We met at the docks?”

“Nah, in low town, on a dock. You would have seen it, as you came into the city, that there’re canals leading into Kirkwall that wind ‘bout through the districts.” He seemed thoughtful again “not sure how long they’ve been ‘ere- but their old.”

“SO, low town- is that the largest district?”

“Tis. It’s all this, before the city rises they’re by th’ stair. At an’ ‘round and und’neath the stair is Dark-town- it’s in th’ tunnels throughout th’ whole city, really, but its concen- tat- concentratred-” he heaved an explosive sigh, more a whistle through his blocked nose. “Concentrated close to the stair. Up the stair is High-town.” He was speaking faster, his tone become light.

 _One does love human creativity and its application to names._

“So where are the docks?”

“Along the coastline of the city- s’not really a coast though- just where the buildings end and the bay into the sea’s channel begins. The gallows ‘s along it, just off the coast t’ the edge of the cliffs wall- connected t’ the reast of Kirkwall by a tunnel under the bay- the tunnel can be sunk if the prisoners escape, doesn’t give them anywhere t’ escape to but the sea, then.” His voice had become monotone. “Not a fun place, but then the name gives it away.”

He rolled his eyes. “Still, the docks ‘s an old and sturdy place- some stones there are literally from all over the old Tevinter empire from Anderfels to Orlais” _Tevinter? Anderfels? Orlais?_ “That’s where the largest of the merchant ships access the city. Also where the viscount’s fleet sits- not that we need one really. Bays defended well enough” he trailed off.

 _Viscount? Isn’t that French? It would imply nobility- but he said this was a free city? So… free how and free for whom?_ Victoria gestured towards the canal. “And how is trade with Orlais and Anderfels?- some of the these ships seem, well, antiquated”

He scoffed and smiled boyishly again. “Course; there not for th’ open water, are they? But surly you knew that, so how do you mean?”

She groaned internally, suddenly regretting that she never let her cousin teach her about his boats. “I’m not entirely sure how to tell you, but they lacked some technology I would have expected.”

“Did you come by Rivain then?” Worry flooded his expression, “I’m telling you, Lady, don’t go near th’ Qunari- It’s all just a front, yeh can’t trust it. If you get in, they jus’ won’t ever let you out again. Sure, there ships are big an’ fast an’ dam complex, but you’d be giving your soul away to them- don’t.”

“I won’t Sampson- if there’s one thing you’ve talked me into this night it’s that the Qunari are to be avoided.” 

His expression was incredulous. “I should think so”.

They moved in silence for a whole street before she began badgering him again.

“This is an awful lot of tents, Sampson; what’s happened here?”

He groaned, childlike in exasperation. “Why even come here if you knew nothing about it all, Lady? They’re refugees from th’ Blight ‘cross Ferelden.” he scoffed through a laugh. “Honestly,” 

She couldn’t hold back and so laughed with him; at least the drunk would continue to be the drunk, regardless of time and space shenanigans. Nothing new there. 

She took a moment to recover, feeling lighter at the release of tension, then continued. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, taking pride in your city. I didn’t want to spoil it.”

They smiled at each other, until his smile took a cheeky edge. “Well, you know what they say- ‘how do you know someone’s from Kirkwall?’”

She narrowed her eyes. “How” drawing the word out.

He was grinning “’They’ll tell you.’”

Sampson continued to relax as they meandered, beginning to talk about the inanest things and engaging with Victoria in an increasingly cutting and meaningless dialogue, street by street, block by block and bridge by bridge. 

By the time they had walked forty streets from dock they were both laughing like fools. 

But still it came, in their breathless silences, the haunting to his eyes. 

Victoria had come to realise that this was a lonely young man, desperate for an understanding ear and a break from their social isolation. 

She recognised the signs. 

His enthusiasm had allowed him to, with the lack of inhibition, act more his age at least.

She found that she wanted to desperately to ask about it but couldn’t for fear of closing him to their conversation. So, she tried to push it from her mind and let herself wonder at the city. 

Into the tightly packed homes and hovels they danced at pace. Fast then languid then halting than fast again, beholden to the guides drunkenness. An unspoken choreography entirely unrehearsed. Her drying clothes not hampering her movements.

And the city, their stage, was wondrous.

Enchanting for its meaning and potential and novelty and grime… 

Filth really… Victoria could look past the literal shit lining the street in their dance, but that didn’t mean its stench suddenly vanished. Sampson didn’t mind, clearly. So, it was a common and unremarkable thing to the Kirkwaller’s, to live in their own filth. Even in his state Sampson deftly avoided suspect stains.

The living standards of this Low-town must be horrific. Cholera must be epidemic, let alone malaria; it wasn’t exactly cold even at this hour after all. 

_Fuck, medicine could literally be medieval- do they have germ theory?! Theory of the four humors?!. This is going to be a nightmare- NO, think of the research opportunities. You’re in another world- maybe- surly that’s going to count for something_.

She looked up towards what could only be high town, realising in the dawning way, that their shit must literally rain down to these people below them.

 _What if the society is feudal? What if the aristocracy is the ruling class? Have they separated their church from state?_ She reflected on Sampson’s earlier passion. _Perhaps not. A caste system she could handle, she was familiar with its trappings, but a state fully integrated with its religion was something new_.

It was distressing, the relentless realisations. The quality of living… the accepted cultural norms… The death rate…

 _It might not be so bad- no evidence but history from a world possibly separate from this one, Sampson’s drunken rambling and the shit in the street_.

She missed the salt-brine of the docks, the view, and the wonder lust it bred. Still, with her feet beneath her she did not stop their dance for the sake of her panic. 

Though as the homes and street became less inviting and more claustrophobic, Sampson tried to rase their tempo. He seemed uneasy in these quarters, his eyes darting about. It was getting difficult for him to maintain their banter.

More, Sampson was slowing, trying to hide his clear exhaustion, to mask his panting for breath and the bite of his stich. 

Clearly whatever substances he had ingested that night were coming to take their toll. His behaviour was certainly growing strange. Formal and stiff but packaged by his drunkenness and all the smoother for it.

When someone cloaked by cloth and shadows, lounging on these twisting streets, coughed he smoothly reached for that, hidden in the waist of his tunic, positioning himself ahead of her just slightly, so as to be in the way of the stranger. 

It brought a comfort to her, his chivalry. Regardless of what ever he had seen in her to trigger it, whatever construct developed to represent her in his mind, he was being kind and pleasant company. For one in his state, it was rather impressive. 

Victoria wasn’t naive, nor was she without teeth. Yet the present of a helping hand seemingly willing to bleed a stranger at slight provocation brough to mind her past encounters with the Sealgair. 

Although, not ten minutes after the coughing stranger his willingness to violence proved to be quite practical as the two were abruptly threatened by a small pack of young thieves. 

And Victoria was stunned- simply shocked stupid by their coming. They weren’t all human. One of them was _clearly_ not human- _just, the horns! And- the ears!_

What the hell body modifi- no, this was it, the proof. This was another world. Had to be- well… she could be in some strange comma in which she remained an active brain state… but metaphysical scepticism wouldn’t help now. 

So, another world… Ok. Cool. 

That’s cool.

Real cool. 

Sampson jostled her roughly. 

“Steal yourself, Chen!”

_I- nonhuman people. This could mean everything- what else is here?_

Horns mouth was moving- _Empress she's tall!_ \- gesturing to Victoria, then her ears and wrist, horns moving with every twitch of her skull. 

Sampson stepped in front of her, re-drawing her attention. He’d let go of her arm at some point.

They, the youths, had scoped Victoria as being of some wealth, then- to be looking at her watch and jewellery like that. Fortunately, Sampson was more present in the moment, and having none of it. she wondered how the two of them looked- her drenched in tailored clothes and he dry in rough spun linens.

He’d extended his arm back, trying to cover her from there sight, or to keep her back, she wasn’t sure.

Sampson looked over his shoulder quickly, trying to catch her eye, Victoria tried to listen.

“zat ez an expensive looking time peace, madam.”

 _Horns is French? And has rings in her horns? I- oneteothreefourandthe- Ireallynee-otherfivethenextonesixseven-_ Victoria tore her eyes away to the youth with the lengthened ears.

“Gentlemen, ladies, can we not do this tonight?” Sampson’s voice was strained and harsh. At least he wasn’t slurring.

One of the kids with pointed ears had an intricate tattoo woven about his features- between his eyes, along the bridge of his nose, over his brow and down his temples to the edge of his lips it coiled slyly.

“is that a white jewel, miss? just sat in your ear? Rubies too miss?” he spoke.

“ENOUGH!” Sampson was panting now.

French horns scoffed “’and zem over, and you, eh- et tu peux passer. Don’t, and you will be beaten, et tu seras battu sanglant.”

 _If we intimidate them, then maybe_ \- “Sampson, darling friend, please tell me you’re armed?”

He drew a blade, wicked looking in its simplicity, to answer. An eight-inch dagger tapered to the point yet thick in its circumference. He clenched it in his fist.

Pointy face smiled and raised his fists with the rest of them, singing out ‘bluffs the drunk’. 

But she could see it in their eyes; they didn’t want to fight, not with someone armed and clearly willing to resist. For all Sampson had opened up to her like a wall flower throughout their dance, he was still an intimidating silhouette.

Indeed, Pointy ears one and two seemed uncomfortable; two tried to deescalate. 

“How ‘bout you just give’s one, and we’ll go? Now that’s fair, yeah? We get a white, an’ red gem- so where happy- you and go home with most of your treasures _and_ without having bled- so your happy.”

For all that they were threatening her, she could appreciate the sentiment. She didn’t want anyone to die. Victoria looked to number two, meeting his eyes. “Give Your word?” She swept her gaze over them all, stopping at French horns. “All of you? Your word?” _They’re young still_.

The eclectic lot surveyed each other before Frenchy answered, “of cor-” 

And Sampson was just there, plunging a hole into her heart.

Things blurred. 

Victoria dashed to the closest, anticipating their punch, going to duck into his side. 

Sampson throwed the dagger.

The surviving youths ran.

The punch never came.

The dagger missed, sliding but-to-tip along the stone street.

 _Ah._

She relaxed and straitened from her half-lowered stance, looking to Samson, then French horns- too much blood; she’s gone. _I suppose that works_. 

Sampson ‘huh’d’ before bending over at the waist, supporting himself with his arms on his knees and sucking air in before furiously blowing it out. “Consider them dealt with, my lady.” He coughed.

She tried to smile at their little resolution, but her face felt wooden. “Indeed- well done you”. He grimaced at her, waved his hand off his knee.

Then collapsed with a hoarse cry.

Victoria rushed to his side, assessing his condition before calling out to him for some sign of attentiveness.

Sampson didn’t respond.

She moved him onto his back, raising his knees and tried again, slapping on his bicep. This time he opened his eyes.

“Sampson! C’mon buddy, say something.” Assessing his posterior tibial pulse she knew his heart was racing.

“Aw.” His face scrunched up as hers lit up. 

“Good start, now, what’s your name?” She didn’t know what other substances he was taking, aside from the alcohol, she ought to be thorough.

“Sampson.”

“What city are we in?”

“Kirkwall.”

“What district?”

“Low-town- I think I’m fine” oh?

“You sure?”

He groaned. “Not the first time. I just need to rest.” He took a deep breath before sitting up, Chen’s arms supporting him along the way. “We need to you to the inn- I’ll be fine” She searched his face for some indication he was in pain, that he wasn’t responding fully. Still.

“OK- happened before. Do you know why it happened Sampson?”

He stood and she tried not to stop him, remaining close in case he fell again. Although he did seem stable. “I do. I don’t wa- It’s fine.” He waved her away.

When they got to the in maybe she could force him to rest? 

_Or this was faked, and he’s trying to- no, I know my limits, he’s not going harm me. The physical evidence is clear_. 

“When we get to it, you’re going to rest for a while, just until I’m sure you’re ok to leave, alright? In that vein, how far away are we Sampson?”

He held her gaze for a moment, before wiping his brow- now glistening with sweat- and pointing to where the youths has run. “Just a short walk. There’s a main road maybe six hundred meters that way, it’s just before then- the back of it’s on the main road. I can make that.”

And so, they walked, stooped and shaken and pulled from their dance, the last stretch to their hopeful refuge. 

When they made it to the Hanged Man, they bartered with the keep for a room. She was amazed that it open, truthfully- it was close to three fifty in the morning. Yet still, people drank quietly in the booths and at tables, a rough looking lot.

The trade of her diamond studs won her a room for next five nights at full bord, on the condition that the proprietor would allow her to buy them back before the end of those five nights. 

It could have been a room for two weeks had she just traded them outright. She might be without money or a fallback, but those earrings were a precious gift- Her aunt had only ever given her three pieces of jewellery in her life, for all that the woman had raised her.

The room was pleasant at least. Clean and large enough for a dresser, desk, bed, and pair of chairs- even if the space they formed all together was a cramped one. Although she was a little worried about the oil lamp sitting on the edge of the desk. It was upstairs away from the smells of the street while also remarkably soundproof, almost like magic. She said as much to Sampson and he laughed, settling into his chair.

“Yeah, they attract some apostate mages here, people don’t report them to the templars.” 

_What._ “What?”

He looked unsure, suddenly. 

“I hope it doesn’t make you feel unsafe, my Lady. It’s just how things are done here- I should ‘ave brought you t’ somewhere of higher repute.” He cursed, before making to rise- but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m just surprised. Tell me about it?” _He couldn’t possibly mean it… could he?_

“Not much t’ say, Lady Chen. The Templars have greatly increased restrictions in the past years. Thrown those who spoke out t’ the curb. Anyone found to be a mage is going t’ suffer. S’ some apostates came into town, a brave lot, seeking t’ shelter and smuggle anyone who s’ much ‘s fondles magic.” He exhaled hard, tone starting to wobble, “s’ the Templars became and become harsher still.” He was crying, she realised, lips trembling in spasms as he began to weep slowly and quietly.

 _He must be exhausted_. Victoria gently rubbed his shoulder, softly hushing him.

“They’re not even lenient for the children anymore.” He whispered, voice cracking and becoming hoarse.

“You’re going to stay the night, ok? You need to rest, somewhere safe and comfortable tonight.” _Mages, maybe that was what they called… no, he’d have recognised her if it was. Questions on questions. Can’t let him go yet…_

He was standing in the time it took her to blink, wiping at his face. “I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be proper.”

“No buts- top, belt and top off and in the bed. I’ll take a chair- I need to think for a while regardless. And you will be. Staying. For. Breakfast. Is that understood?” He looked sufficiently cowed. 

“Yes mam.”

He really was only just out of boyhood.

Sampson was asleep only moments after the scent of the extinguished oil lamp had wafted through the room.

Victoria Chen quietly sat, the lightless room bright to her.

SO.

What to do?

Krikwall. She was in Krikwall, somewhere seemingly like a city-state. 

And she spoke the language of the Kirkwaller’s here. Which was English. Somehow.

And she’d just… what? Come into existence spontaneously? Still; that’s potential evidence of preternatural phenomenon- maybe even the manifestation of some form of magic. If mages are here what they were supposed to be back home…

She frowned. But that would mean finding a way back… When there was so much to learn here?

When Sampson had talked of magic as if it were a common phenomenon, instead of a long-lost and dead-forgotten mysticism?

Well, she knows of no natural phenomenon that could move a person from one world to another, so, she would be looking into magic one way or another. Which leaves the meantime. What to do? 

She had to manage living in a city where she had no contacts aside from the homeless man sleeping in her bed. She’d need to rectify that- tomorrow morning she’d go make some friends. 

She had some jewels, and the clothes on her back and her coat. What skill could she sell? Well, she had been a doctor. There had to be somewhere she could volunteer at to demonstrate her ability- that would come to bring in cash- or was it coin here? She had no idea how technologically advanced these people were. 

_And what the hell was with Sampson’s fear of the Qunari? That they’re more worrying than magic? But then I don’t know how magic’s viewed here- it could be a sign of evil as much a mundanity, of weakness not power. Speculation is worthless right now, focus_.

She knew how to fight. She knew how to sneak and how to deceive. But she was used to fighting in an environment where people shot at and got shot- if all indications were correct- she’d be against blades and crossbows. And magic.

Illegal magic. She’d have to be discreet in researching it then- unless these ‘templars’ weren’t law enforcement? Wait, were they templars as alike the templars of the templar order? Holly knights? If so that’d make them above the law… 

_speculation right now is useless… What to do? Information and income now that shelters solved. And I want those studs back dammit_. 

_Ill scout tonight, stick to the rooftops, run from conflict and observe till the sun begins to rise and then integrate myself with the people downstairs_.

She blinked.

All on its face, her situation was as panic inducing as it was fascinating– and by the gift was she _fascinated_.

A noise drew her back to look on Sampson. He was almost talking in his sleep; ‘barrel lady’ was possibly mumbled.

To think, this night had started in such a fashion- stuffed across worlds into a barrel…

::‘;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’;’::

Now, being suddenly stuffed instantaneously – with all the pressure differentials that come with such realities – into a roughly meter squared space packed – functionally packed – with caustic preservatives, eggs, and no air, should be something that simply ruins one’s day. Indeed, ‘ruins’ is too polite a word; all dressed up- so, let’s speak plain. This should have killed her in more ways than to be bothered with counting.

Fortunately, Victoria had been murdered by her uncle six decades prier. 

As such,

Everything.

Was.

Fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Thought this might be fun.  
> Been wanting to do it for a while.  
> probably going to continue, even if there's no interaction.


End file.
